


Cantabury tales

by Jazz_Miester



Category: Poetry - Fandom, cantabury tales
Genre: Bad Poetry, Class Project, Poetry, i went brain dead, why did i do this, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 09:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17743628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazz_Miester/pseuds/Jazz_Miester
Summary: I did this in class and somebody besides the teacher needs to see it.





	1. Prolgue

Inside a busy place  
Was a man trying to keep face  
To and fro did the people go  
Only to ignore the old man with the withered bow  
A faded pink thing tied around his frail wrist  
It seemed ready to fall with a graceful twist  
He sat alone upon a cold bench  
Trying to ignore the giggling wench  
He sat and watched the people's race  
As his snow white curls covered his weathered face.  
His old heart was heavy  
Held up with a levee  
The picture he carried in trembling hands  
Didn’t look to be to grand  
It was tattered and torn  
Frayed and very worn.  
A child soon wondered up  
Wondering if the man needed a sup.  
He looked poor in those battered clothes  
And had an air that the had no home.  
The little boy grinned and asked if he could stay a while  
The old man nodded with a mile wide smile.  
“Where’s your home?” Asked the little boy.  
“Gone long ago” Replied the man with no joy.  
The man’s money tin danced a little jig  
As coins were tossed inside once again.  
The little boy’s face looked down to the floor  
As the old man remembered his life with abhor.  
This man had seen many a thing  
And lived long enough to see himself as a king.  
But that all fell apart  
When his dear had depart.  
So he swallowed his sin  
And asked with a grin  
“Would you like to hear a story  
Of a child’s greatest glory?”  
The little boy nodded his head  
And sat down so the man could begin.  
The old man stayed silent for a spell  
Trying to say his story well.  
This story he tells  
Is rather like hell.  
To young for a child  
Who was anything but wild.  
The child’s blue eyes  
Could light up the skies.  
And they did as much  
When the man lost his crutch.  
His memories came pouring,  
Running and roaring.  
The burden he carried  
Was one to bury  
When the memories come swimming  
Just barely skimming  
The surface  
Leaving him scrambling for a purchase.  
This world is cruel  
And will use you as a tool.  
It will use you in such a way  
That will leave you feeling played.  
You will be left broken  
And no longer spoken.  
So the old man settled down  
And gathered his crowed  
Of one  
To be won


	2. actual story part

It all began one misty morning  
the sky above was in mourning.  
A lone child sat upon a lawn  
Watching, with rapt attention a feeding fawn.  
The child’s head was in the clouds  
As she looked around  
Her heavy curls flounced around her head  
As she wished to be in the fawns stead.  
“Oh to be free” She would sigh  
While raising an earthy hand to the sky.  
The fawn with it's sharp hearing  
Turned tail and left the clearing.  
The child cried out in fright  
And quickly followed the fawns flight.  
The woods grew more and more dense  
With each leaping jump over a fence.  
Branches and twigs scratched up her face  
As the fawn kept up it's speedy race.   
Through streams and through rivers  
The fawn seemed to grow quicker.  
The forest trees rapidly grew taller  
Yet the young girl refused to falter.  
As the light grew dimmer  
Her path got thinner.  
So she took an abrupt stop  
And her heart dropped.  
Then dread set in  
Much to her chagrin.  
She had lost the fawn  
Her whole world was gone.  
Replaced with a feeling so much darker  
It had caused her to falter.  
But she continued on  
In the dimming dawn.  
The woods grew more violent  
As the sky painted itself violet.  
The once tall and protective oaks  
Twisted and made themselves a joke.  
She felt like ice  
When the voice gripped like a vice.  
The once sleeping owl  
Called her name with a growl.  
“Run child run  
And forget the sun  
Your name is ours  
And rains on us like showers.”  
With the birds warning  
She ran as the wolves began their mourning.  
The forest had enticed her  
Only to drive her  
Away  
The them it was all a game.  
She ran and ran blind to it all  
Not caring as she began to fall.  
Her body was shaking  
And her heart was aching.  
She was so far from home   
The only place she had known.  
Her hand dug into the carpeted ground  
The noise wound  
Themselves up, amused by her fate  
As a called bellowed out like a screeching gate.  
The forests melancholy song  
Was soon gone  
Replaced with a quiet stepping  
There was something coming.  
So she opened her eyes  
And was surprised  
By matted grey fur  
Something her father had once called a cur.  
So it opened its snout  
And gives a great shout.  
“Come little girl and tell me your name  
And I will teach you a great and wondrous game.”  
In the darkness of night  
He helped her in her plight.  
So small and scared was she  
It did not matter that he  
Was a stranger  
It wasn’t quite a danger  
As the one she had faced  
In her long and perilous race.  
So she followed him  
Into his den.  
There wasn’t much as strange  
As a speaking wolf king.  
The lord of the woods he said  
Something she should never forget again.  
As they walked on  
Her dread was gone  
The woods was less scary  
And maybe more merry  
As he led the way  
So that they could play.  
He led her through the moonlit path  
Unaware of the forests wrath.  
All around her the world grew colder  
She shivered as she wished her father could hold her.  
Unaware of his devious scheme  
The wolf is able to live his dream.  
The wolf was alone   
Gone from his home.  
They had casted him out  
With nothing but a cloat.  
He had wanted to play  
Be merry and gay.  
Soon they were at his den  
Located near a fen.  
He rose on his hind legs  
And began to beg.  
“Come and lets play  
And I will bring you home at the start of day.”  
The young girl frowned  
And looked at the ground.  
Her feet scared the moss   
As she thought what could be lost  
And about what she held dear   
As the wolf began to draw near.  
“What else could you need little one  
When there are games to be won?”  
“My home for a start”  
She said from the heart.  
“My father for another  
Could taking me home be such a bother?”  
That had been the wrong thing to say  
As the wolf had begun to sway.  
His hackles raised high  
And the threw himself to the sky.  
“You dare question me   
The mighty Wolf King you miserable flee!”  
He pawed at the ground   
And began to pace around.  
Growling  
And snarling.  
He was as mad as could be  
Had he not answered her plee?  
As she cried for help   
With nary a yelp  
“Your time   
Is now mine  
You agreed to this game  
When you gave me your name!  
Now under the lost sun  
Let us have our fun!”  
So they danced and they danced  
As the deer around them pranced.  
The wolves were howling  
And the owls were prowling.  
The games had begun  
The only choice for her was to run.  
So she ran and she ran  
As fast as she can  
Pink ribbons were left in her wake  
The only thing the king deemed not fit to take.  
“She’s cheating! She’s cheating!”  
A doe started bleating.  
Indeed she was and by breaking the rules  
She had made herself the fool.  
She wished to be back upon the lawn  
Watching the little fawn.  
The wolves around her howeld  
And the king began to growl.  
“You came to me  
Scared as can be.  
I helped you in your time of greed.”  
He hit the ground. “You humans and your senseless greed.”  
The moon has fallen and a new dawn rose  
The king struck a brand new pose.  
“Be prepared oh fallen one.  
This game is mine to be won.”  
No longer was this her friend  
But no, this is not the end.  
The wolf shed his pelt  
And seemingly began to melt.  
He was in a brand new body  
The white curls and jacket to shoddy   
An imitation to copy her father  
He went all the farther  
And closed the woods around her.  
“Gone now is your home, you are no longer the daughter  
Of the old man in house  
You small little mouse.  
And no longer will he  
Have the glee  
Of owning his home.  
With you gone and all alone.”


End file.
